


War Stories

by RositaLG



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, War, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-07-27 17:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RositaLG/pseuds/RositaLG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one shots surrounding the war's effects on Jack and Phryne in their current lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Ride Home

**Author's Note:**

> I've found myself writing these little scenes, all surrounding Phryne and Jack's time in the war. I figured I would put them somewhere in a collection where I can keep them all straight.

Jack waved Hugh into the chaos of reporters waiting to hear the details of the case before turning to look at her.

“I'm not convinced my heroic constable deserves all the credit.” Jack suspected. “But as I've forbidden him to do your bidding, I may need to escort you home myself.” 

“Thank you.” Phryne smiled. 

She waited patiently as Jack finished up his duties and he gave her a nod. She followed Jack to his car and she hopped in the front seat. They drove along in silence, which was new for both of them. Jack kept glancing over at her. 

“You okay?” He finally asked.

“I will be.” She smiled.

“You’ve had quite an afternoon.”

“It’s been quite a case.” She murmured.

“Mm.” He agreed as he pulled up to her house and put the car in park. He turned to look at her, still a bit concerned for her well-being. If anyone would understand...

“Jack?” She paused, wondering how much to confess. “Be kind on Hugh. I did request a ride home, but it wasn’t to manipulate him. I… I wasn’t fit to drive at the time and he saw that. He truly was just helping me home safely.”

Jack was staring at her, trying to read her thoughts. 

“Let’s just say I was... back in France.” She added. 

Realization flooded Jack’s face, knowing all too well what she meant. 

“Yourka had died in my arms, crying Nina’s name. I was covered in his blood. I was wearing all white…” She stopped and swallowed back the tightness growing in her throat. “It seems there is no difference between a cotton uniform and furs, no matter how much we try to pretend that we’ve moved on.” 

Jack closed his eyes briefly before turning to look out his window. 

“This case…” He cursed it under his breath. “The Browning automatic we found at the docks didn’t help me any either.” He admitted quietly, still not looking at her. “How can you explain the effects of a Browning to a young constable without...?” He stopped, unable to finish the question.  

Phryne felt her stomach drop at the memories his question brought to mind. 

“You can’t.” She answered so quietly that it got Jack’s attention, but she wasn’t able to look at him just yet. When she finally did turn her attention towards him, she put on a new face for both of their sakes. “I love them dearly, but our younger counterparts can sometimes be appallingly naive.” She commented dryly.

“Mm. And may they always stay that way.” Jack hoped softly. His bittersweet comment was too much for her and she reached out and squeezed his hand at hearing his wish. She prayed that he was right. Phryne couldn’t bear the thought of her sensitive Dot working on the front, or sweet, bumbling Hugh in a trench. She shivered at the invasive images that came to mind and hoped she wouldn’t recall them later.

She briefly wondered if Jack twisted in nightmares the way that she did after conversations like this. If he woke his wife with his cries, or if he slept alone to avoid conversations he didn’t want to have. 

“Jack, you probably don’t need me to tell you this, but you don’t have to explain the war to me. I know what it means to find a Browning automatic in a warehouse, and to hold a dying man in my arms as he whispers, or screams, someone else’s name.” She looked him in the eyes and saw the inquisitive desire for her point, mixing with something darker, more primal. “I’m always here, if you want to talk or not talk, forget or remember. You can’t tell me anything I haven't already seen firsthand.” She murmured quietly. 

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat with a nod and she released his hand again. 

“Well,” she forced a small smile as she put her hand back on the handle of the car door, “you know where to find me.”

“Yes.” He nodded politely as she opened the car door and stepped out. 

“Thank you for the ride home, Inspector.” She smiled.

“You’re quite welcome, Miss Fisher.” He nodded. 


	2. Sisters in the Park

“Help! I need help!” A woman cried from the park and Phryne and Jack went running toward the sound. They found a homeless woman, dressed in ragged clothes, pressing her hand to the seat of a bench. She was trying to resuscitate it. “I need more bandages!” She called out.

“She thinks she’s in the war.” Phryne realized out loud as she started towards the woman.

“Phryne…” Jack called out, not liking the idea of her dealing with a clearly unstable person but she kept walking quietly over to the woman. 

“How can I help, Sister?” She asked, pushing up the sleeves of her blouse without thought. Jack wondered if it was part of the act or simply a residual habit from the war. 

The question seemed to break through the confusion and the woman looked down at the bench. When Phryne got no answer from her, she tried again.

“Where are you serving, Sister?” 

“Alexandria.” The woman replied before staring at Phryne and nodding once, as if to compel her to answer the same question.

“France. Sister Fisher.” Phryne held out her hand.

“Trenches.” The woman stated, staring at the hand.

“That’s right.” Phryne nodded. 

“I...The boats…” She looked around, realizing she was now in a park. 

“They’re gone now.” Phryne put her hand over the woman’s. “They’ve all gone.” 

“Oh.” She looked down at the hand on hers. 

“I’m... stationed,” she improvised, “not far from here. We have food, a bed, bath, we can always find room for one more.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not safe.” She whispered to Phryne. 

“I would be happy to escort you, Sister.” Jack offered, playing along. 

“No! No Majors! No Captains! No! No!” Phryne stared warily at him and Jack stepped back a few feet and waited out his orders from her. She joined him quickly. 

“Call on Mr. Butler and get him out of the house. I don’t think his presence would be appreciated. Dot can serve a meal and I’ll get her bathed. I’ll call Mac over. Perhaps we can get her at least one night off the streets.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in telling you to be careful?” He presumed.

“Would you love me if there were?” She asked, raising her eyebrow at him. 

“Meh.” He shrugged noncommittally as he started walking away backwards. The smiled that bloomed on her face was worth the joke, and he turned around and headed back to the station.


	3. Intelligence Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 2x12. If there had been no interruptions or other people in the house!

Phryne awoke to a naked Jack Robinson in her bed. And despite the fact that she had fantasized about this moment for years, she couldn’t quite believe it. She stared at him, observing every line in his features, as if she could make it real by willing it into being.

“What is it, Miss Fisher?” He asked, eyes still closed and she was startled by the groggy sound of his voice.

“Where did you learn to do that?” She honestly wanted to know.

“I’m not telling you.” He said as he settled in deeper to his pillow.

“I’m willing to trade information.” She offered and one eye cracked open in curiosity.  

“What kind of information?” He asked, coyly playing along.

“Valuable information.” She promised.

“I learned it in the army.” He offered vaguely, testing her game.

“When you kiss my neck? It drives me wild.” She confessed coquettishly.

“I already knew that.” He frowned.

“So did I.” She countered dryly, wanting better intel. “Intelligence gathering, am I right?” She had figured out that much on her own.

Jack didn’t respond.

“Come on, Jack. You are the least flappable person I have ever met. You had Compton and I pegged the moment you heard we flew together. You speak fluent German and absolutely no French, despite claiming to be posted there, you knew how to find invisible ink on paper, and you always know where I am even when you can’t see or hear me coming.” She listed off his credentials.

“Translation was involved. And I was posted in France.” He replied, only a little less vaguely. “Your turn.”

“Every time you touch me here,” she said, grabbing his hand and directing it to the small of her back, “no matter how innocently or chivalrous, I fantasize about making love with you beneath me, holding me in place as I come apart in your perfect hands.”

Jack widened his eyes a little, tucking that information aside for another day. He glanced down at her bare back, clearly having thoughts of his own.

“Your turn.” She scolded, keeping him on track. He sighed, trying to think of what to say next.

“It’s my ability to not react, to keep a still face, that won me my job.” He finally said, hinting at having to witness horrific things. Phryne put the pieces of the puzzle together in her mind.

“Prisoners?” Phryne murmured her guess. Jack looked down at his hands, telling her that she was correct.

She knew that there had been interrogations of German POWs for information, presumably some of those interrogations, or maybe even most of them, had involved torture. Had Jack stood and translated those screams while the unspeakable happened directly in front of him? Or worse, had he participated in the unspeakable?

She couldn’t help but think that this information was the missing link to his personality: the piece that explained the lot, especially his inherent desire to follow the rules. There must be such safety in being held accountable to a higher law when for years men were allowed to do anything deemed necessary, moral or not.

And she had come along and ripped that safety net right out of his hands.

“Your turn.” He replied at last, confusing her guilty face for pity and wanting desperately to change subjects.

She had to make her information just as important. She placed her hand on his cheek and looked him in the eye.

“I am in love with you.” She confessed, forcing herself to be confident while she said it. “And before I met you, I never thought that I could love anyone like this. I thought I had seen too much, lost too much...” She paused, unsure if she was being too open but Jack was still hanging on her every word so she continued.

Jack’s hand instinctively touched her arm, wanting to comfort her.

“And when I was taken on that boat, I kept thinking ‘You fool. You can’t die here. He doesn't know that you love him yet.’”

“I knew.” He promised.

“You did?” She said, looking relieved.

“I didn't think you would ever admit it, but I knew.”

“I didn't think I would ever get you in my bed.” She replied. “We’re even.”

“I hadn't received any offers.” He countered.

“Is that all it would have took? A mere suggestion over our nightly drink? ‘Jack, it’s late, come upstairs and make love to me instead of going home?’” She looked incredulous and he couldn't help but chuckle at her disdain for the suggestion that she simply hadn't tried hard enough. “ _I_ , on the other hand, would have jumped at that offer. Which, by the way, also never came.” She reminded him.

“Phryne?” He said seriously.

“Hmm?”

“It’s late.” He said as he slid over top of her.

“It’s six in the morning.” She countered dryly, knowing exactly what he was doing as he kissed her jaw.

“Come upstairs.” He murmured, already kissing his way down her neck.

“Already here.” She replied with a breathy sigh as he found her breasts.

“Make love to me instead of going home.” His lips traveled lower down her body, canvassing her stomach until his teeth scraped across her hip bone, begging entry.

“Oh, you hateful man.” She hissed in resentful pleasure as her mutinous legs spread and she welcomed his smirking mouth to take his fill of her.


	4. Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a brief, albeit different, outline of this one written, and then I read HeavyHeadedGal’s “Words That Maketh Murder” and I was so inspired with the tableau that she drew that my brain couldn't stop thinking about it until I came back and rewrote everything! Go read that story first. (And her others, if you’ve the time. This one will wait.)
> 
>  …
> 
>  You’re back?
> 
>  See? It’s great, right? I told you. Thanks to her for the inspiration.

 

It may have been irrational to be worried about the most rational man she knew but Phryne was worried all the same.

Jack hadn’t come home for dinner, and that was unlike him. They had settled into a routine over the past few months and he had yet to disturb it. She considered phoning to see if he was at the station, but she wasn’t quite willing to give up the appearance of her own independence for a few hours of tardiness.

But as the clock on the wall spun around, she grew more and more concerned. Between the two of them, and the enemies they had made, a disappearance without a telephone call was something to legitimately worry over.

By the time the clock struck eleven, she could bear it no longer. She hopped in the Hispano and headed towards Jack’s house. She was planning on just driving by, checking to see if there was a light on, but when she arrived, she had to pull over to the side of the street for the shock.

It looked like Jack was having a party.

There were at least 3 cars out front and every light in his house was on. She stepped out of the car and paused outside of the gate. She heard boisterous, drunk laughter coming from the back garden and she let herself onto the property. She made her way around the back of the house and saw Jack surrounded by several men she didn’t recognize. They were sitting around a small table, long forgotten playing cards strewn over it. There were empty bottles at their feet and Jack had a lit cigarette in his mouth.

“‘Ello, ‘ello, ‘ello.” A man to her right smiled as she made her way hesitantly into view.

“Phryne.” Jack looked surprised, pulling the cigarette from his lips quickly and putting it out. “What’re you doing here?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, I was just driving by and saw all the cars…” She had never seen Jack smoke, or be so outwardly drunk, and to see him doing both so naturally, well, it terrified her.

“Gents, this is the Hon’rable Miss Fisher. Miss Fisher, Freddie, Jones, Smith, and Percy.” He waved broadly.

“And how do you know each other?” She asked the crowd.

“We met abroad.” Jack explained before chuckling in drunken amusement at his own joke.

“14th Battalion, Miss, at your service.” Jones, or Smith, mocked gravitas as he bowed slightly in her direction.

Well, that made much more sense.

“The Final Five.” Jack mused.

“The Final Five? Of your unit?” Phryne asked in surprise.

“Of the company.” Percy answered loudly as he stubbed out his own finished cigarette. “We started with, what? 80 or so?” He asked the men, who simply nodded.

Phryne glanced over at Jack, who had fallen into silence, looking as if he were recalling each and every man he had known, one by one, down the line.

“There were six, until today that is.”

“What happened today?” Phryne asked warily, unsure she actually wanted to know.

Percy paused, not willing to continue in mixed company.

“Oh, don’t worry about her." Jack scolded Percy for his tact. "She can handle anything. After all, she's a 'detective' herself.”

His emphasis was less than appreciated, but the world was clearly upside down so Phryne bit back her response until she heard the rest of his story.

“This afternoon," Jack continued, "Private Alec Mitchell, 33, formerly of Fitzroy, decided to check into a hotel not far from my office. He jotted down a quick note on hotel stationary that read: "Contact Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, City South Police Station", and then went into the bathroom, lay down in the tub, and swallowed a 22 caliber bullet.” Jack said bluntly, clearly wanting a reaction from her.

She was too stunned to give him the satisfaction.

The rest of the men looked at the ground, giving Jack's story an unnecessary credence. 

“He knew you’d do right by him.” Freddie finally spoke, flicking his cigarette ash to his right far too casually to be natural. 

“Well, pardon me if I’d rather he trusted someone else with the job.” Jack said darkly as he looked into his cup for a distraction. “I need another.” He excused himself as he went into the kitchen, leaving Phryne with the decision to follow him or not.

“Lads, it’s getting late and we are sorry company for this fine lady.” Freddie replied, much more sober than the rest of the group. “Perhaps we should leave the Captain to do the entertaining.” He smiled kindly at her.

“Can’t be that late.” Jones and/or Smith responded.

“The sun went down hours ago, Jones.” Smith replied, solving her conundrum. Phryne made a mental note of their differences.

“Did it? Hadn’t noticed. Still very warm.” Jones grinned cheekily before swallowing the rest of his drink. For a moment, Phryne saw a flash of what the man must have looked like at 18; it broke her heart.

“I know a very good cab service if you’d like some help getting them home.” Phryne offered Freddie as he corralled the younger men towards the front gate.  

“We’ll be fine. We’ve gotten quite good at the Irish wake.” Freddie informed her and Phryne glanced back at the front door. “He’ll be fine too, eventually.” He assured her. “This one shook him. We didn’t see it coming.”

“Were they close?” She asked, hating herself for not knowing any of the men in the garden.

“They knew each other from before the war, school I think. Alec wanted to be a constable, talked to Jack about it all the time in the trenches. The academy, what he'd need to do once he returned, he never shut up about it." Freddie laughed. "But he never got the chance on account of his legs being amputated in France."

“Poor man.” She whispered, her heart breaking as an unbidden image of a young Hugh Collins flashed in her mind.

"He came home early. Married his nurse, if you'd believe it. Things were decent enough for a while, I guess. But Jack said that when he went to the house to inform his wife of the news, she was gone. Went to live with her sister in Sydney. Neighbor said she had left him after he threw a vase at her.” Freddie added. “Couldn’t exactly live by himself, so I guess he thought…”

Phryne touched her heart and closed her eyes. Life could be horribly cruel. 

“The war always finds a way to creep back in somehow, doesn’t it?” She asked the man next to her.

Freddie looked over at her with something in his eyes that she couldn’t name before turning his attention back to the stumbling men in front of them.

“Jones, wrong motorcar!” Freddie exasperatedly called out, seeing the man tug at the locked handle of the Hispano. “There you go.” He added to himself as Jones found the correct vehicle. A fatherly sigh escaped his lungs and Phryne smiled.

“It’s been a pleasure finally meeting you, Miss Fisher. Something tells me the Captain is a very lucky man.”

“I’m the lucky one.” Phryne smiled. Although, maybe not tonight, she thought as she glanced back at the house.

“Take care.” Freddie smiled.

“You too.” She waved and waited until everyone was safely on their way before entering the front door of the house.

“Did you bring your flask with you? I’m out of everything.” Jack said as he searched the cupboards.

“Generally, that’s a sign you’re supposed to stop for the night.” She suggested.

“I don’t want to.” He slammed the last cupboard closed. “I was happy drunk, now I’m just…”

“Angry?”

“Yes.” He hissed as he sat down at his kitchen table.

“You should be angry. That’s the normal reaction to this situation.” Phryne moved to sit down next to him.

“Jesus. I still can’t… I mean, he might as well have done it in my office.” Jack muttered, before rubbing his face with his hands.

“I can’t imagine what that phone call must have been like for you.” She murmured sadly. “But Freddie was right. It says a lot about his faith in you that he chose you for the task.”

“Why didn’t he call me? Why didn’t he reach out? If anyone could have helped him, I could have. I was so wrapped up in my own life, I didn’t even know he was...”

Phryne fell silent, realizing Jack was going to blame this on his own happiness.

“Jack, this wasn’t your fault.” She wanted to reach out for his hand but she knew he wouldn’t take it.

“I could have stopped him.” He said simply.

“You don’t know that.” She shook her head. “We both know that you would trade your happiness for his in a heartbeat, but it won't bring him back. And being ignorant of the situation he was in is not a crime so I dismiss the charges.” She added, using his own words against him.

“You can't.” He repeated hers.

Phryne sighed, clearly unable to argue with that. 

“Do you want me to go?” She asked him. He looked at her, as if he were seriously considered the offer. “You won’t offend me. I was the one who came over uninvited.” She added.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” He replied honestly as he reached for his last cigarette. He fumbled with the lighter and she steadied his hand with her own, helping him light it.

“I’m not going to judge you for how you choose to mourn, Jack. I’ve had more than my fair share of bad nights.” She pointed out, recalling not only her sister, but the men and women whose lives she had tried to hold together with her own bare hands, only to fail minutes, hours, sometimes days later.

“Oh, God, Phryne. I...” Jack stared at her, realizing he had opened old wounds. He rubbed a hand sheepishly over his eyes.

“Jack, it’s fine.” She assured him, letting her hand touch his arm. “Like I said, you won’t offend me.”

“You should still go.” He decided for her, stamping out his cigarette butt onto a nearby dirty plate that was doubling as his ashtray. “With the images I saw today, I’m not going to be sleeping any time soon, and it’s getting late.”

“Are you sure?” She hesitated, not wanting to leave him alone. “I could sleep in the bedroom.” She offered.

Jack just gestured towards it apathetically, letting her decide what she wanted to do.

She took a chance and bent over, kissing the top of his head and whispering her I love you before heading back to the bathroom. Her worried mind was focused on him as she mechanically went through her evening routine. She made it to his bedroom and reached into the drawer where she always kept a few of her own staples but decided against them, choosing instead to don one of his pajama shirts. She buttoned it carefully over her body before sitting on the bed. She reached up to turn off the lamp but hesitated as she heard him coming down the hall.

“Jack?” She paused as he appeared in the doorway. He didn’t say a word as he crawled mindlessly next to her. She turned off the light and lay back, hoping he would join her and he did, resting his head on her chest and curling around her. He lay there silently for a moment as Phryne gently stroked his hair, willing to spend the entire night holding him this way.

"If I hadn't had my work, something to distract me..." He whispered in the dark.

Phryne's heart clenched in her chest, knowing full well what he was implying, but she refused to let her hand falter and interrupt her soothing actions. 

"I know." She murmured in his ear as the first of his hot tears began to fall, searing her skin with every drop. "I know." She repeated as she held him tighter to her chest, letting him cry until there weren't any tears left to fall. 


	5. Growing

Phryne watched him chopping tomatoes carefully before looking up at his face.

“Yes?” Jack asked, feeling the heat of her stare on his cheek. 

“Did you grow these yourself?” She asked curiously. 

“Mmhm.” He replied, never looking up. "Out back." He motioned with the knife towards the garden behind the house. 

“I’m impressed. How does a Detective Inspector come to have such a green thumb?” 

“Would you prefer the simple or the complicated answer?” He asked. 

“Both obviously.” She demanded, as if there were any other response.

He nodded once and reached for another tomato. 

“Simply, it was my responsibility as a boy. My father worked, my mother ran the house, and I ran the garden. And I was extremely proud of my work.” He bragged and Phryne smiled, her heart overflowing at the image of a skinny young boy, elbow deep in the mud, proudly taking on the responsibility of feeding his family. “Mostly, I believe my mother just wanted me out from under her feet.” 

“I like that answer.” She replied, stealing a piece of tomato from him. “What’s the other?” 

“During the war, there was nothing but mud.” He reminded her. “Mud in the trenches, mud on the battlefield.”

“Everywhere and in everything.” She recalled her own memories of driving over the horrendous terrain, digging mud out of shoes, wheels, and tools. 

“Mm. I never wanted to see it ever again. It actually stopped me from gardening once I returned. I couldn’t even bear the thought of it on my hands or on my clothes.” He admitted. “But then, one winter day, I was staring out the window and I couldn’t stand to look at the emptiness. It looked as empty and as dead as I felt inside.” He confessed, pausing in his task. “And just like that, I vowed, mostly out of rage, to produce something instead of destroy it.”

Phryne kissed his cheek silently and Jack went on chopping his tomatoes, busying himself with the task. She moved to the kitchen window and stared out of it for a moment.  

“Can we have roses next spring? Or lilies?” She asked. “White ones?” She heard Jack’s knife stop moving but she didn’t dare turn around to look at him. It was the first time she had made a comment on her commitment to him and yes, it was a tiny statement, but they both knew it was an incredibly large milestone for their new relationship.

“I suppose so.” He said as he emerged behind her, wiping his hands on a towel. “Where shall we put them?” He asked. 

“Just there, along the fence.” She said as she pointed out her preferred spot. “I want to be able to see them from the northern windows.” 

Jack smiled briefly as she finally turned around to look at him. He was looking at her with those sparkling eyes that always made her stomach flip, the ones that said he so clearly adored her. 

“Your wish is my command.” He replied kindly. Phryne raised her eyebrow and Jack immediately realized his mistake. 

“Is it really?” She asked as she let her hands slide over his backside. 

“Phryne." Jack warned as he stepped out of reach. "Give me ten minutes to finish preparing this meal and then I’m all yours for the next hour.” He promised. 

“I’ll give you five.” She compromised as she began undressing right there in the kitchen. Her scarf hit the tile floor and she took a few steps before removing one shoe. 

She heard Jack mutter something exasperatedly under his breath before he began tossing tomatoes into the pot on the stove as fast as he could manage.

Phryne grinned as she let her second shoe clatter loudly to the hallway floor. 


	6. Language Lessons

“Who taught you German?” Phryne asked curiously.

Jack looked up from his drink and considered her question. He’d known his comment earlier would come back to haunt him. She never missed anything. 

“My best mate growing up was a boy called Hans Muller.” 

“Ah.” Phryne smiled softly in understanding. 

“We were best mates from the moment we met. I taught him English, he taught me German. We thought it was the best secret code. When we were at his house, we spoke English, when we were at mine, we spoke German. We were the local neighborhood spies, when we weren’t being pirates.” He added.

“Naturally.” Phryne grinned. 

“But then the war came and it wasn’t a game anymore.” He felt her watchful gaze but he didn't look up.

“Did he serve with you?” She asked.

Jack nodded morosely and Phryne didn’t need to ask a follow up question. 

“When he was killed," Jack began slowly, wanting to find the right words, "something within me broke. The Germans had killed a German born in Germany, and for what, wearing a different uniform? If Hans hadn’t moved to Australia, we would have been trying to kill each other. If my grandparents had never moved, we would have been on the other side. It was just so...” He stopped himself from continuing his rant. She didn't need to hear it. She knew. 

When Hans had died, Jack had been secretly grateful to lose his last connection to the language. He’d never wanted to hear it again once the war ended. He’d never been able to disassociate the language of his happy childhood from the war crimes of adulthood and it made for some terrible dreams.

“Do you ever use it now? Outside of translating Rilke, of course.” She asked, softly teasing him. 

“Not really. It doesn’t come up very often these days.” He replied. “What about you? How many languages does a worldly woman like you speak?” 

“Only the Allied languages, I’m afraid. English, French and Italian, with some dabblings of Russian and Turkish…”

“And you were impressed with my measly German?” He shook his head, overwhelmed by her never-ending ability to impress.

“It was by necessity. When people are hurt, they speak the language of their mothers.” She said simply. “And when someone is dying in your arms, you owe it to them to bear witness to that moment. To understand their final words. To comfort them in their own tongue, if you can.” She murmured quietly. “Make them feel like they aren't alone.”

Jack fell silent, contemplating her words. 

“Sorry. This is not polite nightcap conversation.” She said, forcing herself into hosting him once more. “How about a game of draughts?” She stood up to fetch the board and he could tell she wanted the distraction more for herself than for him. 

He glanced at his watch in pretense, as if there were anywhere else in the world he wanted to be.

“I suppose one game wouldn’t hurt.” He decided nonchalantly. “It’s been awhile since I let you win.”

She huffed in protest.

“I bought you a new hat. The least you could do is attempt to beat me. You won’t, of course, but...”

“Just set the board, Miss Fisher.” Jack interrupted, moving competitively towards the edge of his seat as he tried to ignore her pleased smile.


	7. For the Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An episode tag for "Murder Most Scandalous".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. I haven't forgotten about this one. I've got a folder of bits ready to work on when the muse strikes. Today is a tiny episode tag, with a little cowboy-esque Jack to get you through your Monday.

“I don't know how to thank you, Jack.” Rosie said sincerely.

“It was a joint effort.” He replied humbly as he watched Rosie nervously pick away at his desk with her thumb. The metaphor for their relationship was not lost on him. Nor was the contrast of what Phryne would be doing if she were sitting in that same seat. For the first time since their separation, Jack was flooded with a sense of resolution. 

“I accused you once of a lack of ambition. I wanted you to climb the ladder like Father. But I can see what you like about where you are.” She said with a chuckle. “You're a different man these days, Jack. You've got your fight back.”

“Probably just that lack of ambition.” He smiled politely. He heard himself playing towards underestimation but he knew why. When they’d been together, she’d seen him as some sort of failure; he didn’t want to be seen as a success by her now that she was gone. She would give herself too much credit for the change.

“Or escaping a marriage that didn't suit you.” She suggested, unknowingly proving his point. 

“It's war what didn't suit me.” He corrected her firmly, not wanting her to believe she had any role to play in it. What happened between them was inevitable, and would have occurred no matter who he’d been married to at the time. Jack may have been broken, but she’d never done any of the breaking.

Rosie was just about to respond when a knock on the door cut her off.

“Excuse me.” Sidney interrupted, begging Jack’s pardon. “You ready, my love?” He asked Rosie with a small smile.  

“Ah, yes, I'm coming.” She answered as she stood up.

“No hurry.” He smiled.

Rosie turned back to face him. 

“You know, I didn't get a chance to tell you amid all the fuss, but Sidney and I are engaged.” She informed him with a hesitant smile.

Jack nodded once. This wasn’t a surprise. He’d had a hunch that Sidney was the reason for Rosie’s sudden request for a divorce after so long of a separation.

“It's very different, the second time round.” She assured him, as if she were imparting some wisdom he didn’t yet understand.

Jack understood. Far too well, in fact, but he’d never let her know that. It had been years since they had occupied the same space and both left on happy terms. Now was not the time to start rocking the boat.

“I wish you all the best.” He said simply, sticking with a singular truth and swallowing the rest.

Rosie looked at him, truly looked at him, and smiled. Maybe she'd found her resolution in him as well. With a small, conclusive nod, she made her way for the door.

Jack followed her out, leaning against the doorway as he watched her cross the street towards her cab. He watched as Sidney’s arm came out protectively around her waist and he couldn’t help but feel a small pang of regret for what the war had cost him. He had loved her dearly once but he truly did wish her well. Rosie deserved everything she wanted from life.

And so did he, Jack realized with a small smile as he felt the air change behind him.

“Must you lean in every doorway I need?”

“In your case, The State of Victoria usually commands it, Miss Fisher.” He replied languidly, making no attempts to move from his position and forcing Phryne to step around him pointedly. However, as she came into view, Jack realized that she had his hat and coat in her hand. He glanced at her curiously.

“Then for your sake, I hope your tailor charges by the sleeve.” She tsked, examining the fabric on his shoulder. She paid no attention to his amused expression as she opened his coat for him. “Well?” She replied, looking up at him at last. “Come along, Mr. Butler hates it when people are late for dinner.”

“Does he?” Jack played along, unmoved. “Then you’d better hurry.” He said as he glanced above her head at a passing car. It wasn’t often he had the upperhand with her and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. They both knew full well he hadn’t been invited to dinner and they both knew why she was trying to pretend that he had. And while he didn't particularly need or want her pity, he found her concern for his well-being endearing. Although he’d never admit it.

“Jack Robinson, if you think for one second that I’m going to let you skip out on our post-case nightcap to mope just because your ex-wife has run off and gotten engaged, you are sorely mistaken.” She said as she shoved his coat and hat into his hands. “Now get your lanky backside into that motorcar before I run you down for a second time this week.” She reprimanded. “And I promise you, this time it will not be a warning.” She huffed as she waited for him to move. She gave one last dramatic gesture towards the car and Jack stood up straight, leisurely slipping his hat onto his head.

“Well, if you insist, Miss Fisher.” He smirked, slipping on his coat and following her towards the car.


	8. Time and space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A War Stories version of the July trope focusing on time and space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've edited the archive warnings to reflect the latest chapter. Some graphic depictions of domestic abuse (both past and present) in this one.

“There’s nothing out here.” Phryne commented on the suddenly wide open horizon.

“I know.” Jack replied uneasily, glancing in the rear view mirror as the city (and his jurisdiction) fell away. He hoped that the local police were forgiving if they did find anything.

“Jack, Jack, stop the car.” Phryne didn't have to ask, he’d seen it too. A young woman had stumbled out of her home and collapsed.

Jack stopped quickly but even so, Phryne was out of the car before he’d put it in park.

The woman (a girl really, she looked no more than 17) had been terribly assaulted. Her thin, brunette hair was falling messily out of her long braid. She was bleeding and bruised and her face was so swollen that Jack didn't know if he should bother asking her questions. Phryne, on the other hand, didn't hesitate.

“Who did this?” She demanded to know, kneeling beside her.

“Husband.” She croaked out before Phryne warily met Jack’s eyes.

He reached for his gun and headed towards the house, prepared to meet an obviously violent man.

“Hang on, we’ll get you a doctor. Just be strong for ten more minutes.” Jack heard Phryne coaxing her from behind him.

The front door was still hanging open and Jack entered quietly. The tiny brick house had only two rooms and both were empty. The kitchen area had been violently upheaved, and a bloody iron was left abandoned on the floor. Tracks in the dirt led out the back towards a grove of trees, but he couldn't give chase now. They needed an ambulance more. Jack was unsurprised to find a lack of a working phone in the home.

Phryne looked up at him when he returned and shook her head. She turned her attention back towards the woman just as the final life left her eyes.

Jack raised his head to the horizon, wondering if someone else had witnessed the injustice before them.

No one had.

When he turned his attention back to Phryne, he recognized the glossy, shell-shocked expression in her eyes. She was somewhere else, lost in her mind. If he had to reckon a guess, it was Paris, 1919.

As distant sirens signaled miraculously incoming help, Phryne stood up determinedly and smoothed her skirt with the back of her gloves, so as not to get any more blood on it.

Jack saw the transformation occur before his very eyes. He recognized the look from his own experiences: she shut down and went into war mode.

The local constables and an ambulance arrived on the scene moments too late. They had been alerted by someone who had driven by earlier and heard the commotion and gone back into the city for help.

As they were separated to give their statements, Jack kept watch over his constable’s shoulder as Phryne gave her statement a few steps away. His, he was certain, was a distracted mess but she was a complete professional, explaining everything that happened, barely looking over at the ambulance as it drove off with the remains.

“Is that all you need?” She asked the officer, who gave her a dismissive nod. She didn’t look back as she disappeared behind the small structure.

Jack watched her go for a moment before deciding to follow after her.

“Excuse me for a moment.” He requested and the young man nodded cooperatively.

He heard her even before he emerged around the corner.

Panicked, heaving breaths were wracking her petite body. She frantically tore off her bloody gloves and threw them on the ground, wanting to get them as far away from her as possible. She placed one hand on the brick as she began clawing at her collar, needing more air.

Jack was already rushing to her side so he managed to wrap an arm around her waist before her legs gave out but as soon as she felt his protective arm around her, she crumpled into sobs, relying on him entirely to hold her up.

“Alright, alright.” He guided them both gently to their knees. “Shh. Breathe, Phryne.” He commanded.

She inhaled sharply before letting out another horrible, shuddering cry.

“Good. Again.” He repeated and she shook as she tried to inhale but only managed shallow gasps through her tears. “There you go.” He murmured, content to have her trying.

There was a large bang and her entire body flinched.

“Motorcar.” He explained quickly as he leaned forward and hugged her.

She nodded pathetically against his cheek as Jack continued to rub her back.

“I’m sorry.” She cried as she tried to pull herself together. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, there’s nothing to be sorry for.” He murmured honestly, closing his eyes at the uncharacteristic weakness she was displaying. Hearing it, holding her, it all felt too intimate, beyond what he should ever be allowed to witness.

As her tears began to subside, Jack tried to distract her by handing her his handkerchief and changing the subject.

“When you're ready, I’ll take you home. Miss Williams will get you cleaned up, Mr. Butler will fix you a drink, maybe a meal. You’ll be sorted in no time at all.” He knew it was true. He also knew his name would never normally appear in her list of caretakers. It was a reminder to himself what his role really was: convenient but understanding bystander.

“Will you stay?” She requested with a sniff. “For dinner, I mean. I, I don’t want to be alone.”

She had told him recently that she needed him to keep the shadows at bay. He’d been touched, but knew better than anyone that she was strong enough to tackle any shadow life threw her way all on her own. But that didn't mean she had to.

“If you’d like.” His voice was too tender; it gave him away.

She looked down, almost embarrassed by her request.

“Melbourne, 1929.” He offered. 

“I’m sorry?” She gave him a quizzical look.

“When I forget where I am, I try to focus on the differences between then and now: sunny skies, clean air, thick grass underfoot, Inspector Jack Robinson,” he added with a smile as he touched his own chest. “You’re in Melbourne, 1929.”

Phryne searched him carefully.

 _You’re safe with me,_ his eyes told her, even when his mouth couldn’t.

She hugged him for a long moment, grateful for his revealing confession. When she pulled away, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek. (Calling it his cheek was generous, it was virtually on the corner of his mouth.)

“Thank you.” She murmured sincerely.

“You’re welcome.” He nodded, slightly uncomfortable with such open affection, even if they were alone. “Come on, let’s get you home. What do you say?” He tilted his head just a bit to get a better look at her hidden face.

She took a deep, decisive breath, nodding her agreement. She collected herself and stood up. He followed suit. 

OOOOO

Jack had kept his word and stayed for dinner, and several night caps (her glass filled more often than his) but eventually, they ran out of reasons for him to stay. She seemed to sense his imminent departure as he set aside his empty glass and stared into the fire beside them.

“You should go home, Jack. I’ve kept you long enough. I’m sure this wasn’t how you intended to spend your day.” She swallowed the last of her latest drink to prove that she was finished for the night. Jack had a feeling it was merely for his benefit. She was giving him an out, but it felt wrong to take it.

“What happened earlier?” He asked quietly.

“You mean, where and when did I go?” She asked as she recalled his words. “Paris, 1919." 

Jack nodded in understanding.

Phryne tilted her head, surprised.

"You know, I always found it odd that you never asked me about Rene, or the painting.”

“It was none of my business. Then or now.” He said honestly. "I knew that you would share if and when you felt comfortable." 

“Sarcelle’s painting memorialized the first time he ever laid eyes on me; I was posing for it the night we met.” She explained. “And if Rene couldn't have me, then he wanted the painting and he was willing to kill Sarcelle to get his hands on it." 

“He abused you?” Jack asked hesitantly, recalling the sight of the girl on the road, his mind's eye replacing her face with Phryne's. 

She nodded. 

“I was posing for Sarcelle one night and it made him jealous. He was obsessed with me being his, belonging to him. He only hit me once the first time, split my lip." She paused, reviewing her memories. "I knew it was wrong, but we were always so passionate, I assumed he just lost control for a moment."

"It's a common thought." Jack knew all too well. 

"There was another time, he pushed me against a wall and... assaulted me." She said delicately. "When I tried to get away, he grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head into the wall. Later that week, he came home and found me sleeping late into the morning. I’d been to a party the night before and he was convinced that I’d brought someone home with me afterwards. He beat me unconscious and he left me there. But that was his mistake, because he left me alive." She steeled in determination. "I was hidden by friends until I could get on a ferry and escape to England. If I hadn't had them..." She shuddered to think of the possibilities.

"So when you saw a young woman, beaten and left alone..."

"Long brunette hair, white dress," Phryne nodded, "I might as well have been standing over my own body.” She finished. 

Jack moved from his chair to the sofa, unable to leave her alone with that thought for another second.

“But you survived.” He reminded her.  

“I always do.” She murmured wistfully, playing with her hands. "No matter who comes after me, someone else always manages to take my place. Sarcelle, Janey..."

“Hey,” Jack demanded her attention but Phryne refused to look up. "You've been through hell, no one can deny it, but despite it all, you somehow find the strength to go on, brighter and more alive than before. It's inspiring." 

She gave him a knowing look, assuming his statement was simply an empty reassurance to appease her.

It wasn't.

"It inspired me." He confessed. "Do you remember when you told me that you hadn't taken anything seriously since 1918?" 

"Oh, I was flirting with you, Jack." She rolled her eyes, not taking her statement seriously either. 

"Even so," he smiled at her, "you reminded me that it's perfectly acceptable to go on living a full life, even after things end. In fact, you keep reminding me." He thought back on how much courage she'd given him just by dancing audaciously at her birthday party. If she could dance in the face of all that, he knew he could get through something as bureaucratic as his divorce. "Give it time. You'll remember it again." He said confidently. 

"Remind me now." She requested softly, all but eliminating the space between them as she leaned forward hopefully. 

Jack considered how easy it would be to give her what she wanted but he'd already stolen one kiss from her vulnerability; he wasn't about to do it again. He leaned in, cupping her face in his hand and waited for her to close her eyes. He leaned up and kissed her softly on the forehead.  

"Everything will look better in the morning." He whispered before standing up to take his leave. 

"And until then?" She asked, giving him another chance to press his advantage.  

"Get some sleep." He encouraged with a small smile at her persistence. "I need you at your best. We still have a case to solve." He headed for the door. 

"Jack?" 

He turned around.

"Do you think there will ever come a time and place in the future where you might actually give in to me?" She asked. "Melbourne, 1929 perhaps?" She suggested slyly.

"Anything's possible, Miss Fisher." He smiled. "Good night." 


	9. Stretcher bearer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been an unspeakable SIX months since I last updated this collection. Thank you to those of you who even remember this story was a thing, let alone waited patiently for an update. I appreciate it and I'll try to do better if the muse lets me. : )

Phryne tiptoed into her bedroom, knowing that Jack had probably been asleep for at least an hour while she was out working reconnaissance for her case. She made her way over to the bed to check on him, and he murmured something incoherent. 

“Are you working an investigation as well, Inspector?” Phryne whispered, tilting her head in curiosity as she watched Jack’s brow furrow in his sleep.

As she slipped into her favorite silk pajamas, an occasional order not to move escaped his tight jaw and she chuckled at hearing such a commanding voice coming from his prone position. She made her way over to the vanity to remove the last remnants of her makeup. She picked up her face cream and noticed it was getting low. She’d have to make a note for Dot to pick some up the next time she went shopping. 

“Stretcher bearer!” Jack cried out.

The jar slipped from Phryne’s hand, shattering into pieces on the hardwood floor.  

Jack sat up, breathing heavily and instantly awake from the crashing sound. 

Phryne glanced over at him briefly before looking down again, trying to seek distraction in the destruction but her hands were trembling when she picked up the pieces of the jar. 

“Phryne?” Jack struggled to turn on a lamp beside the bed. 

“Oh.” She shook her head at her clumsiness as she ascertained the damage in the fresh light. The glass shards were large but the cream droplets splattered across the floor and up the wall.

“What happened?” He asked.

“You called out in your sleep. It startled me and I dropped the...” She gestured to the mess but didn’t finish. “Don’t get out of bed. There’s glass everywhere.” She picked up the larger pieces and began tossing them in the bin.

Jack didn’t heed her warning, getting out of bed to fetch a wet towel.

“Don’t move,” he instructed, sweeping up the smaller pieces of glass and the remnants of the cream with the towel.

She felt like a fool, letting the poor man clean up her mess when he was in the middle of a trauma himself. 

“Did you cut yourself?” He asked as he tossed the towel into the bin as well. 

“No.” She waved off his concern. 

He looked her over anyway, not trusting her own assessment. 

She sat down on the bed and motioned for him to join her. 

“Jack...” She reached out for his hand and entwined their fingers. He looked down at the union as she searched his face for traces of his dream. “The reason I jumped is because you called out for a stretcher bearer.” She stated. 

He looked away in shame for a moment and she squeezed his hand.

“Well?” She questioned as she brushed his sweat-matted curls off his temple with her free hand. “You called and here I am, so how can I be of service, soldier?” She asked, a soft smile ghosting across her lips. 

He exhaled sharply and shook his head at her unexpected response, as if he couldn’t believe her ability to make light of the situation. But her sympathy had the opposite effect she desired and rather than lighten the mood, Jack’s shoulders began to shake as he began to cry.

“Oh, darling.” She rubbed his back as he buried his face in his hands. She didn’t interrupt, unwilling to interfere with the healing properties of a good cry, but she placed a few well-meaning kisses to his shoulder. 

He took a few shaky breathes and brushed his own tears away.

“I think we’re going to need another towel,” he joked at seeing his wet fingers. 

She nearly choked on the laugh that erupted from her. She kissed his temple, unable to resist. 

“Brave, brave man,” she murmured before reaching for a handkerchief off her vanity. She offered it to him and he took it, but used it on his hands instead of his face. 

“Do you want to talk about it or does that make it worse for you?” She asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know. I never discussed them before,” he confessed. 

“Not even with Rosie?” Phryne couldn’t hide the alarm in her voice. 

“I couldn’t...” 

Phryne understood. Jack hadn’t wanted to taint his young wife with the terrible images seared into his brain, even if it meant living alone with them.

“And Rosie was sympathetic, of course. She wanted to help but what could she do?” He asked rhetorically and Phryne knew too well that any comfort she might have provided him would have only been temporary. “After a while, she stopped asking.”

“I didn’t dream until after I left Paris,” Phryne confided. “Only later, when the shock finally wore off, did the memories come rushing in.”

“I’m sure you saw terrible things,” Jack sympathized. 

“But my dreams are all sound," she explained, "men screaming in every language, begging to live, bargaining with God for a few more breaths while I have to choose only one to take with me.” She shivered. “There’s noise everywhere, bombs and sirens, but I’m frozen, unable to decide who lives and who dies. Eventually, everything goes quiet. There’s total and utter silence in the aftermath as I look out over the muddy fields and see there’s no one left to save. I didn’t help anyone in my hesitation.”

Jack pulled her into his chest and lay back on the bed so they could hold each other. 

Phryne inhaled slowly, taking in the familiar scent of his skin, reminding herself that they were awake; their dreams held no power here. 

Jack seemed to pull security from their embrace as well as he summoned the courage to tell her of his dream.

“I went to war with three of my childhood mates.” He whispered into her hair. “Each one died fighting beside me, two were completely painless, a bullet and a grenade that they never saw coming, but one was…” he paused, unable to find the words. “Peter took shrapnel through the gut after a bombing.”

Suddenly, Jack’s early commands not to move had a darker connotation and Phryne felt terrible for taking his mumblings so lightly. 

“I spent an hour screaming for help, kept going long after he and my voice both gave out.” Jack swallowed the lump in his throat. “I guess I haven’t stopped,” he realized. 

“Well, you needn’t do it anymore.” Phryne comforted him. “I’m here now. Your stretcher bearer has arrived at last.” 

Jack closed his eyes, seemingly touched by her attempt to take a dark part of his history and resolve it so simply. 

She placed a caring kiss to each eyelid, both cheekbones, and the corner of his lips.

He surprised her by capturing her mouth in a heated kiss, wanting to lose himself for a few stolen moments. She happily obliged him and when he pulled away, he looked all the better for it.

“While I’m grateful for your assistance,” Jack brushed her cheek gently with his thumb, “I do wish you weren’t so qualified,” he murmured, knowing her knowledge came at a steep personal price. 

“I don’t regret a thing. Not if it means I get to be the one lying here, sharing these moments with you.” 

“Not even the loss of whatever expensive potion was in that jar?” He frowned, pulling away to show her the drop of cream his fingers had found on the side of her neck. 

“It was nearly empty,” she shrugged, unaffected. 

He wiped the dollop of cream off on the tip of her nose, pleased with himself at seeing her look ridiculous.

She laughed and rubbed her nose under his stubbly chin in retaliation, which provoked a deep groan as he wiped them both clean, calling a silent truce. 

“All better?” She asked, happy to see the light back in his eyes. 

He nodded. 

“Good.” Appeased, she reached down to pull the blanket up over them, preparing to get some much needed rest. 

“Phryne?” He asked quietly.

“Hmm?” She looked over at him.

“Thank you.” 

She smiled, nodded, and lifted the blanket for him to snuggle under. He took her up on the invitation and they wrapped themselves up in one other, no longer afraid to let sleep overtake them.


	10. Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny something that deals with another side of post-war trauma.

When Jack finally made his way to the bedroom, Phryne was already asleep, lying horizontally across the bed.

He smiled at the sight and sat gingerly beside her. He watched her sleep for a moment, wondering why she had taken leave of him so early. It was possible that their two weeks of traveling together were starting to wear on her. She wasn't used to having companions. Perhaps he should...

“No!” She cried out, visibly trying to make herself smaller. She looked like she was under attack. “Please, don’t. Please!”

Jack couldn't move, frozen by the weak cries of someone he'd never heard be weak. 

“Phryne, wake up," he commanded once he found his voice. He repeated it again, this time shaking her awake but she nearly fell off of the bed trying to escape his reach.

Jack pulled away sharply, standing up and holding his hands out to show her he was no threat. She was trembling so hard that he was worried that she would hurt herself as she rose unsteadily from the bed and away from him.

“It was just a dream,” he promised as she took frantic stock of the unfamiliar room, trying to find anything to latch onto that would calm her down. "It's alright."

She took a shaky breath, still lost in her own mind, and turned to look out the window.

“It’s alright now,” he repeated. “You’re safe.”

She shot him a look that could cut through glass. 

“I’m never safe in Paris,” she replied as she pushed past him towards the bathroom. 


End file.
